The stool assembled, Beckham set it on the floor and gave the cushioned seat a pat. “Not bad. Maybe I have a future in furniture assembly.”
Without looking up from the vanity, Deacon pointed at the front leg. “That’s on backward.”
“The hell it is.” Beckham turned it over, then cursed under his breath.
It was easier to smile than it had been leaving Anya’s room. My brother’s worry only underscored my own. My daughter, seven going on seventeen, was smart and sweet and a complete daredevil. But come bedtime, when the dark took over the skies, she let every fear in her head take the wheel.
“Beer in the fridge?” I asked.
Deacon looked up, then nodded. “Might not be cold yet.”
“Fine by me.”
The house was unpacked, even if it was light on the furnishings. Our bungalow in LA was half the size—and twice the cost—as the home I’d found for Anya and me overlooking Lake Sammamish in Bellevue. And the fridge was no different than the rest of the house. Just shy of empty. Inside was a case of beer, leftover pizza, deli meat, and whatever my mom had bought for Anya’s meals. I moved aside a bright pink water bottle and snagged a bottle of beer.
I didn’t drink often, which my brothers knew, but today was a day I could justify it.
The bottle opened with a twist of my hand, and as the metal top clattered onto the tile floor of the kitchen, I took a deep swallow.
Since the day I retired from fighting, I hadn’t second-guessed any decision I’d made. But today, as I scrawled my signature on a hundred papers in front of a stone-faced notary, effectively making the biggest purchase of my entire life—a gym about to be renamed Hennessy’s—gave me my first moment of pause.
My instincts were always, always spot-on. If I didn’t trust my instincts, I’d never have survived a single fight. Sometimes your body reacted before your mind had a moment to wonder if it was the right move. That was what training was for. Because a shift of your leg in the wrong direction meant you were pinned with your arm above your head. If you didn’t block an uppercut to your jaw or your kidneys, it was a hundred times harder to win.
When I visited the gym for the first time, about a year after Beth died, I felt a shift when I walked in the door. It was the only way I could explain it. Something in my gut screamed at me that it was the right gym, the right place, the right time for Anya and me.
“What’s with your face?”
I blinked because Beckham walked into the kitchen without me realizing it. “Thinking.”
“Get your paperwork squared away?”
Nodding, I took another sip of beer.
He pointed at me. “You’re doing it again.”
Sure enough, my forehead was wrinkled, and my mouth turned in a frown. I took a deep breath, trying to smooth out my expression.
“I’m fine.”
Because my little brother knew me, he didn’t push on that comment. Grabbing a beer of his own, he cracked it open and took a long drag while he stared out of the kitchen window overlooking the lake. “Remember your last fight?”
I gave him a dry look.
Beckham smiled. “The details, I mean. How well do you remember?”
Over a career that spanned almost a decade, I had a few fights that I remembered every move, every pivot, every fall to the mat, every strike as it hit my body, and that was one of them. I knew it was my last, not that I’d announced it yet.
It was my quickest win, over and done in less than three minutes.
Pure rage, anger that was being funneled through my fists and feet and legs, fueled those three minutes. Inside that ring, I was in control. As I thought about it now, until I decided to move and buy Wilson’s Gym, it was the last time I really felt that way.
But instead of explaining that to Beckham, I simply said, “I remember enough.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Yes.” I took a drink of beer and sighed. “And no.”
Before he answered, Beckham stared through the window by the kitchen sink overlooking the lake. “You sure you want to be stuck at a desk all day?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think I will be, once I get the lay of the land. Amy said I could call her if I needed help, and there’s a manager that’s been running the place for her for the past seven or so years.”
“He any good?”
“Don’t be sexist, Beckham.”
He grinned. “She any good?”
“She is not aware she has a new boss, so I don’t know anything other than what Amy told me,” I admitted.
“That’ll be fun.”
I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Appreciate you pointing that out.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t so … you.”
My hand dropped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He tipped his beer in my direction. “Aiden, you have the charm of a rabid porcupine.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Nope. Just quality time with my brothers while we assemble bright pink princess furniture.”
I rolled my eyes.
Deacon poked his head into the kitchen. “Anya just called for you.” He held out a measuring tape, which I took with a sigh.
I took the steps two at a time and schooled my face when I pushed open her door.
“Was the tape measure lost?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Sorry, gingersnap, I was talking to Uncle Beckham about my new job.”
She snuggled back underneath her blanket, and in the dim light of her room, I could see the curiosity light her eyes. The canopy was effectively forgotten, which wasn’t a bad thing. Surreptitiously, I tucked the measuring tape into the pocket of my gym shorts.
“Is it your first day tomorrow?”
With a nod, I
